Amanda Scott (12 page)

“Oh, Puck, thank goodness! I cannot get this bodice to drape properly, and poor Maggie is at her wits’ end. But should you not be helping Godmama?” she added as Miss Pucklington moved swiftly to examine the rose-pink muslin drapery at her bosom.

“Cousin Olympia is in the dining room, my dear. Although the chef assured her he had everything he required, she wanted to see for herself that there will be nothing to criticize, and so she finished her toilette in good time for me to come to you. I believe a tuck just here and here will sort things out.”

Five minutes later she stood back, regarded Carolyn’s bosom critically, then nodded.

Carolyn sighed in relief when she turned to look at the result in the looking glass. “Oh, yes,” she said, “that is perfect. I can’t think why we didn’t see the problem before.”

“No doubt ’twas because you did not wear your pearls with it before,” Miss Pucklington said, smiling. “’Tis a lovely dress, my dear, and for once there are fires in all the rooms, you know, so you need not be chilled despite the fact that you are not at all well covered. Perhaps just one light shawl—”

“No, no,” Carolyn told her with a laugh. “With everyone commiserating with me for having reached the ripe old age of one-and-twenty, I must not look a dowdy, as well. Oh, dear, Puck! My wretched tongue again! I didn’t mean that you—”

“No, dear, I know perfectly well that you meant nothing by it. I like my shawls, you know, and would not be without them. One can add or subtract one or two and always be comfortable. Except, of course, when Cousin Olympia insists upon economizing. Do not forget your gloves,” she added, handing those articles to Carolyn, who kissed her cheek as she took them.

“I shouldn’t dream of forgetting them. They are by far my favorite gift, for I know that you embroidered them yourself to match my gown.” She pulled the first one on and smoothed it into place, admiring the exquisitely embroidered pink and lavender flowers on delicate green stems. Remembering Sydney’s words, she said, “Do you sometimes wish you might set yourself up in an elegant shop, Puck, selling your wonderful creations, so that you need not be so dependent upon Godmama?”

For a brief moment there was an arrested look in Miss Pucklington’s eyes, but she mastered herself quickly and said, “Whatever can have put such a notion into your head? A shop! Why, my mother was a Beauchamp, just as Cousin Olympia is, and a Beauchamp does not keep shop. Only imagine the scandal!”

“Well, I think it a pity that so few of us should be aware of your talents, ma’am.”

Coloring, Miss Pucklington said, “I know you are funning, my dear, but I pray you will say nothing of the sort to anyone else. Goodness me, I should not wish to distress Cousin Olympia by letting her think for one moment that I thought—and I don’t, truly I don’t, but—”

Carolyn, wishing she had held her tongue, interrupted gently. “I won’t say a word to anyone, Puck. I am persuaded that we ought to go down now. Our guests will soon be arriving.”

Miss Pucklington glanced at the little clock on the dressing table and exclaimed, “Oh, yes, why, it seems only a moment ago that I left Cousin Olympia. How can half an hour have passed by so quickly?” Twittering as she went, she bustled beside Carolyn to the grand stairway, from the top of which they could see that several guests had already arrived.

Carolyn paused as the depressing thought struck her that despite the number of people invited to the ball, there was no single person she was truly looking forward to seeing. Reminding herself firmly that a number of young men had been invited who would no doubt prove entertaining, she lifted her chin and went down the stairs to take her place beside her godmother and Sydney to greet those guests who had been invited early to dine.

Lady Skipton said in an undertone, “I sent Judith to fetch you more than half an hour ago.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Carolyn said, turning to greet a majestic dame and the young girl following in her wake. By the time they had passed on, others had arrived and Lady Skipton was too taken up in the process of greeting them to quiz Carolyn any further.

From time to time before the last of the dinner guests had been greeted, she was aware of Sydney’s glances, and she thought he must realize she was a trifle out of sorts, but when he finally ordered his porter to see to any latecomers and offered her his arm, he said only, “Shall I take you in, my ancient one?”

Relaxing, she smiled at him. “Not if you intend to spend the evening throwing my advanced years in my face!”

The dowager, who had been gathering up her fan and her satin reticule, which had been placed upon the table behind her, turned and said, “’Tis Sydney’s place to escort you, Carolyn, and it is not at all becoming in a young lady of one-and-twenty to be childishly difficult.”

“No, ma’am,” Carolyn said, bowing her head for the simple reason that it was safer than taking the chance of looking at Sydney. She did not do so again until the dowager and her escort had passed before them into the dining room, and when she did, she saw the laughter in his eyes that she had expected to see.

“May I help your decrepit self to a chair, ma’am?” he murmured wickedly.

She chuckled and said, “If you mean to keep this up, sir, I shall not be responsible for my actions. I am not so old that I cannot remember how best to be revenged upon you.”

“Not that!” He held up his free hand in the gesture used by fencers to declare a hit. “I prefer to know that my snuff and my bed are safe tonight. And I should prefer not to discover salt in my sugar basin in the morning, if it is all the same to you.”

“I never did anything so common as that,” she protested.

“No, you were always creative. Let me see, there was the time you pasted my slippers to my bedchamber floor. I arose from my bed in the middle of the night in order to attend to some very important business—”

“Important business?”

He wagged his finger at her as the footman moved to hold her chair. “A lady does not inquire into a gentleman’s business.”

She grinned at him saucily. “Particularly not the business he attends to in the middle of the night.”

“Just so,” he retorted, bending nearer and adding under cover of the commotion caused by the ceremony of seating everyone, “On that occasion, I arose from my bed, placed both feet in my slippers, attempted to take the first step, and promptly fell on my nose. I was sorely tempted to visit you in your bedchamber to describe my displeasure to you, but since I could scarcely leave my room in my bare feet—”

“You ought to be grateful you had resources at hand and did not have to go down the corridor to the commode closet,” she said, only to blush and sit down rather quickly when she caught the eye of the elderly gentleman being seated to her right and realized he might have heard her. “G-good evening, sir.”

“That’ll teach you,” Sydney murmured in her ear before moving to take his own seat.

As the guest of honor, Carolyn sat at Sydney’s right hand, but his attention throughout the meal was claimed largely by the stout, gray-haired lady on his left, a particular friend of his mother’s, who talked incessantly about her family and her husband’s estate. Carolyn was thus left to the mercies of the gentleman on her right, who whether he had overheard her unfortunate comment or not, displayed more interest in his dinner than in conversation. As she watched the others, she sipped her wine, pushed her food around on her plate, sipped a little more wine, and felt generally rather dull.

Most of the dinner guests were of another generation, for although both Viscount Lyndhurst and Mr. Manningford had been invited to dine, neither had yet appeared. She did not miss the viscount, nor would she have cared had his name been missing altogether from the invitation list, but she did miss Brandon, since he at least would have amused her. Deciding that he had either never received his invitation or had forgotten the engagement, she attempted to revive her sinking spirits by reminding herself yet again that other, no doubt interesting young men had been invited to join the party later for dancing.

After dinner, there was no thought of leaving the gentlemen to their port, and when Sydney escorted Carolyn from the dining room, they discovered that the other guests were already arriving. “Hello, Lyndhurst,” Sydney said when that gentleman approached them. “Began to think we’d have to forgo the pleasure of your company this evening.”

The viscount bowed to Carolyn. “Sorry to be late. Many happy returns, my dear.”

“Thank you,” she said, coloring as she remembered their last meeting. Despite that memory, however, she was more pleased to see him than she had expected to be. He was young, he was handsome, and he would be no threat to her here at Bathwick Hill House. He was a rake, of course, and reputedly a dangerous man, but that only made him more interesting. Her smile broadened as she held out her hand to him.

Taking it and giving it a squeeze, he looked deep into her eyes and said, “Will you walk with me? I should like some private conversation with you.”

Sydney said swiftly, “Dashed sorry, old fellow, but I see my mother looking this way. Daresay she wants to make Carolyn known to one of her cronies. Come along, Caro.” And before Lyndhurst could gather his wits, he had whisked her away.

“What are you doing?” she demanded as he guided her, not toward the dowager at all but into the small anteroom leading from the rear of the hall into a little used garden parlor.

At the moment both anteroom and parlor were empty, and without a word, Sydney shut the door behind them and leaned against it, reaching into his waistcoat pocket as Carolyn turned and repeated her question. Still without speaking, he withdrew a long, slim, green-velvet-covered box and handed it to her.

“What is this?”

“’Tis customary to open the box,” he said, folding his arms across his chest.

She paused, looking at him. “This morning when Puck gave me my gloves and Godmama my lace reticule, you gave me that pretty Chinese lacquer box with the inlaid brass woodland scene, so what can this be?”

“Open it, Caro.” He unfobbed his snuffbox, flicked it open without taking his gaze from her, then flicked it shut again and put it away. Had she not known he was never nervous, she would have thought him nervous now.

More curious than ever, she opened the box. Inside, lying on black satin, were four delicate jewel flowers attached to a fine silver chain. She caught her breath, touching the first, a bugle flower made of amethysts. The others were a ruby rose with a diamond center, a sapphire cornflower, and something else of pink rubies that she could not identify. All had emerald leaves and finely wrought silver stems.

“They are beautiful,” she said softly, gazing at them for a long moment before pointing to the last. “What is this one?”

“Lousewort,” he said, grinning.

“Sydney!” She looked up, laughing. “It is not!”

“It is, I assure you, and I’m glad it made you laugh. I’ve thought more than once tonight that you were a trifle out of sorts and hoped this little bauble might cheer you up. You said you wanted spring flowers. It is not a full bouquet, of course, but ’tis the best I could do on short notice. If you like, I daresay we can find more to add to the chain.”

“No, I like it as it is,” she said, putting her hand on his shoulder and rising on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Thank you, Sydney. I shall always treasure my bouquet. Will you put it on me, please? I’ll put my pearls in a drawer or somewhere.”

“I’ll look after them for you,” he said, moving behind her and deftly unfastening the clasp. He slipped the pearls into his coat pocket and fastened the silver chain around her neck in their place. The flowers rested two inches above the edge of her bodice. “Very nice,” he said, turning her. “Their delicacy suits you. Daresay we ought to go back to the others now.”

“Indeed, we should. I want to show my necklace off.”

When they returned to the large saloon where the dancing was to take place, they discovered that the musicians had been waiting only for their arrival to begin. After the first set, Sydney’s attention was soon claimed by someone else, and Carolyn thought her next two partners rather dull. Moreover, the room was hot, so when Lyndhurst asked her a second time to walk with him, she accepted at once.

“Is there a punchbowl somewhere?” he asked, drawing her a little away from the crowd.

“Oh, yes, in the next room, and I should be grateful for some punch. Parties are always so noisy, aren’t they, and the musicians seem to play louder and louder in an attempt to overcome the chatter, but everyone just talks louder. I am beginning to have the headache.”

“My poor Caro.”

“I am not yours, Lyndhurst,” she said severely.

“Perhaps not yet,” he said, smiling down at her in a way that made her want to slap him. The adjoining room was quieter but nearly as hot, thanks to the fire burning on the hearth, and when Lyndhurst handed her a glass of champagne punch, she drank it quickly. Another guest stepped up to speak to her, and a few moments later, when the viscount handed her a second glass of punch, she realized she had not even been aware that he had left her. She sipped as she continued to talk, and began to feel strangely relaxed and more cheerful.

When they returned to the larger room, Lyndhurst said, “I claim the privilege of leading you out for the next dance, my dear, and I’ll not be denied.”

She didn’t care by then who led her out, so she placed her hand obediently in his, thinking her rout party had become a great deal more fun than she had expected it to be. When their set was over and Brandon suddenly appeared before them, apparently out of nowhere, she turned away from Lyndhurst without a second thought to greet him with delight and a scolding.

“Scoundrel, where have you been?”

“Oh, out and about,” he replied airily as he took her hand and led her into the next set. “Went to Leicester and won a pony on a horserace, so I went on to Newmarket. Invitation never came my way, but most fortunately, I met someone or other who chanced to mention your party. Came straightaway back to Bath. Many happy returns, by the bye.” He glanced around. “Look here, you don’t really want to dance in this crush. Want some punch?”